“No,” he says around a throat full of gravel.
“Wyatt!” I snap my fingers, pulling his attention to my face, and make a turnaround motion with my fingers. A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he does what I ask, although his eyes stay locked on my tits until the last possible millisecond.
“You’re going to stay facing the wall while we talk some things out, okay?” He starts to turn back around, so I add, “Either face away and talk to me, or get out.”
After a beat, he nods. “Okay.”
Once I’m satisfied that he’s going to obey, I settle on the floor and grab my makeup kit and light-up mirror from my bag to put my CJ face on while we have this out.
“Let’s start with why you and Reese broke up,” I suggest as I smooth on the primer.
“Let’s start with me handing out another slice of my liver,” he grumbles to the wall.
“I can also kick you out.”
“Fine.” His shoulders tense again. “After the surgery, when I really needed someone, she couldn’t handle it. Or maybe she could, but she didn’t want to. She was just so impatient for me to get back to normal.”
I might be a genius. It’s so much easier to have this conversation without looking at each other.
“What happened?” Based on what I’ve picked up from Liv and his sisters, and hell, from Wyatt himself, it wasn’t a smooth procedure, but I don’t know how much he’ll be willing to share.
“Mom had a metabolic liver disease and needed a transplant. I was a match.” His back quivers in a small laugh. “Holly was so pissed. He wanted to be the one to donate, even though we all joked that the scar would cut into his earnings as a dancer.”
I laugh too, but it dies quickly. The scar. Of course Wyatt has a scar.
“Anyway, the surgery went fine, but I had a longer recovery. The surgical site got infected, so I ended up in and out of the hospital. It was… not fun.”
I pause in the middle of dabbing on my foundation. “That’s why you were so thin last summer.”
He nods, his hands clenching and releasing.
“How’s your mom doing?”
“Great.” There’s relief in his voice. Joy, even. “She’s doing great. Expected to live a long, healthy life.”
“I’m so glad.” I only pause a moment before asking, “And you?”
“I’m good now too. Last year was the worst of my life, but this past year’s been better. Normal.”
“Other than you being single for the first time in ages,” I point out, my stomach swooping as I say the words out loud.
“That actually feels normal too.”
Maybe it’s because I’m so focused on not messing up my eyeliner, but my next question just tumbles out. “Why were you with her?”
He laughs. “God, you sound like my sisters. And my mom. And Hollis and Gabe.” Still facing away from me, he moves to the corner and props his shoulder against the wall next to the painting that caught his interest earlier. “I kind of slid into it by accident. We had drinks one night, and the next thing I knew, we were celebrating our first anniversary.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “We always made sense on paper, and we have a lot of the same goals and drive. I convinced myself it’s what a mature relationship was supposed to look like. Calm and rational. Not…”
“Not what?” When did my hands start trembling? I set my mascara down until I can get myself under control.
“Not what I have with you.”
I suck in a breath, ready to yell or maybe cry, but he jerks his head to the right, not far enough to break our agreement but enough that I can see his strong jaw and furrowed brow.
“Let me finish, Parrish,” he growls. “What I felt for you was just… chaos. And terrifying. And not at all like me. You made me feel out of control that first night and then every time we met after. And Reese was the opposite of that.”
“Well, congrats. You spent the past half a decade with the anti-CJ.” My hands are steady now, and I apply the mascara to my lashes. Not a clump to be seen, so at least I have that going for me. “Face the wall again, please.”
